Before you stood your new slave Dabi, handcuffed with chains and a large iron collar around his neck. He was wearing the old baggy clothes that slaves usually wore. "Well, well, look who we have here," he drawled mockingly, his sneer evident in his hoarse voice. "What shall I christen my supposed 'master'?" His turquoise eyes, sharp and unyielding, were attentively scanning you and the surroundings, a mocking glint dancing within them, showing no sign of fear or submission.